𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

29: t r u t h

Rowan told me that the only way this is going to work, is if I tell Nicolas about the sex tape. He's apart of it just as much as I am, even if he doesn't want to be.

Act like yourself, act uninterested, Dante is still alive, little sun. People will notice he isn't here. Hate Nico, just for now. But watch your mouth around him, words are the most hurtful.

Rowan's words repeat in my head.

I already did my make up, so I change into a red laced spaghetti strapped top and black flared jeans, they're barely flared but I don't know.

I brush out my waves that I just made, not natural obviously. The last thing is red lipstick, I rarely have it on— I'm just feeling bold today.

Too much of my boobs show, but who cares? I need to act normal, okay? I need to act like me before Nico.

I walk out of my room, my heels clicking against the floor, which isn't a very satisfying sound. I make my way to Nico's room, which isn't far from mine.

I take a deep breath before knocking on the door, a groan is all I get in response. There's my invitation.

I open Nicos door, slowly walking in.

I blink at the sight in front of me. He's sat on the floor, a vodka bottle in between his spread legs. He's leaning against the side of his bed, facing the wall.

He squints, looking in my direction. I curse under my breath, closing the door behind me. This is the mess I've created, and I have to fix it.

"Why are you breathtaking?" He laughs to himself, taking a sip out of his drink. "Swear on my life my heart skips a beat whenever my eyes land on you."

I'm taken aback, I'm— I don't— huh?

I don't want it to happen, but it does. Butterflies erupt in my stomach at his words, or at the way his eyes trail my body— I really don't know.

"Nicolas, it's too early for drinking." I ignore his statement, bending down to his sitting height and pulling the stupid bottle away from him.

"The fuck?" He frowns, furrowing his brows in a sad way. "I don't appreciate pretty women walking into my room and stealing my shit." He snatches the vodka away from me, his glare set on my chest.

"You're like my ex." His words shove a knife through my heart, hearing the word coming from someone's mouth kills me.

"I am your ex." I mutter, lifting my brows.

"By the way, you're a fucking bitch." He crosses his arms like a child, staring down at his lap.

I'm not hurt by his words— because there true. I can't deny that. Not that I'm proud of it, and sure, at some point in my life, I was. But not anymore.

"What do you want? Can you go? I don't like seeing your face," he takes another sip out of his drink, not bothering to acknowledge me. He'll protest if I even try to touch the bottle, so i'll let him be.